


Fan the Flame

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Contractor Dean Winchester, Crack, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Slash, Unadulterated Crack, arsonist (for good reasons) cas, or something, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: Dean decides to help out a stranger and gets inwayover his head.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	Fan the Flame

Dean’s just pulling the boxes of cedar shake from his truck when he sees a guy lugging two huge gas cans up the driveway next door.

How a bajillionaire runs out of gas and ends up hoofing it, Dean does not know. Anyone living around here can afford a limo ride from the nearest gas station ten times over. He shakes his head and grabs the next box, wrangling it to the porch and muttering under his breath.

On the other hand, a guy hauling gas is much more likely to be someone just trying to make a living, like him. Not really likely to be a rich dickweed. Dean takes another look and while progress has been made, it’s definitely slow going.

Dean takes a breath and then swears softly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Hey,” he calls. “Let me help you out,” and he jogs over like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Oh, thank you,” the guy says politely, letting him take one of the containers. 

Up close, it’s clear he was doing just fine. The guy is built like Paul Bunyan. Dean is fairly sure he actually has tree trunks for arms - Paul Bunyan in a tight black t-shirt and blue jeans that look new and a bit too snug for either one of them to be comfortable. The workboots look legit, though - something you’d get at Redwing, not some fancy place with diamond studded sunglasses. So, yeah. Dean’s just helping out another grunt, is all.

A really well built grunt.

“Thanks for your help,” Huge Arms says. “You helping Mrs. Baker?”

“Reshingling around the new porch,” Dean grits out. The container is huge and awkward and he’s hoping he doesn’t throw his back out.

“Oh, very nice. She’s a bit eccentric, but she’s one of the better ones around here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean asks, hoping he’s not expected to keep up a conversation. Huge Arms heads around the slope of the driveway toward the back door instead of the garage and Dean slows in confusion.

“Do you really want to take these in the house?” he asks. “The fumes can build up, it can be…” But Huge Arms is already through the door and striding toward the front of the house. Dean stops just inside the door. “Hello?” he calls uncertainly. 

The guy’s voice echoes back. “You can leave that in the great room, I think this one will cover the front rooms.”

The unmistakable smell of gasoline rolls in from the same direction as the voice and Dean arrives at the conclusion, very, _very_ late, that he is in _way_ over his head. He should definitely put the can down and get the fuck out _right now._

So of course he steps into the next room, leaves the canister, and then keeps going, reaching the front room where his new acquaintance is nonchalantly pouring gasoline across the hardwood floors and the single recliner that’s standing in the corner.

“This is...this is your house, right?” Dean asks weakly.

“My grandfather’s, actually,” the guy tells him, heading into the next room, still pouring.

“And he’s asked you to...do this?”

Huge Arms doesn’t look up but he does smile a bit. “Not technically, but when the cops catch up, that’s what I’ll be telling them.”

“I, ah...I see.” This will teach him to never, ever help anyone with anything ever again. Ever. If he survives, that is, because it’s now clear that he’s a witness to something that’s probably best without one.

“He’s currently being acquitted of embezzling, you see,” Big Arms offers, tipping the half full can like it weighs nothing at all. “Which he is absolutely guilty of. He’s not a good person.” He heads back to the great room where Dean left his container of gasoline.

Dean follows him helplessly. “Your grandfather.”

“Yes. My grandfather - King of the Pyramid Scheme, Scum of the Earth.” He starts pouring again and Dean backs out of the room.

“So, you’re burning his house down? Doesn’t that seem...kind of extreme? And...unsubtle?”

Big Arms looks up in surprise. “Oh, it’s not meant to be subtle. The good furniture is already in storage under one of his shell corporations, and I’m his sad lackey of a grandson. It’s going to be very clear he did it for the insurance money.” He shrugs. “They got Al Capone on tax fraud.”

“You...but...won’t you go to jail?”

He shrugs again, moving into the next room to pour. “Probably. That’s all right. I was feeling like it was time for my next chapter.”

“And...the next chapter is going to _jail_ for _arson_?”

“And insurance fraud. That’s the important bit. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone, believe me when I say this is for the best.”

“Umm...yeah, of course.”

The guy comes back into the room where Dean is standing. “You’ll probably want to step out,” he says. “It should go up pretty quickly.”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.” Dean hurries out to the porch, staying well ahead of the guy with no sense of self preservation.

“I appreciate the help, though. You’re very kind.”

“No problem.” He can’t stop staring. This guy is very calm.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Big Arms asks suddenly as they stand on the porch in front of the open door. He wipes his hand off on his jeans and holds it out. “Castiel Novak.”

Dean takes the hand gingerly. “Hey. Cas. I’m, ah, Dean. Dean Winchester.” 

Cas’s grip is firm. “Hello, Dean.” He lets go after a long, intense moment, and then shoves his hand in his pocket, coming up with a book of matches.

He rips them apart and strikes them; they come to life with a hiss. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is it. This is the entire thing. But I do have a sort of head canon of Dean picking Cas up when he gets out of jail, just leaning on Baby and shifting nervously and adjusting his leather jacket and just thinking over and over, _what the fuck am I doing? What the **fuck** am I doing?_
> 
> If that helps. :D


End file.
